To love and to honor (18 page)

She stopped at the kitchen door.

"I am glad you could come for a visit with your sister, Mr. Parker," she welcomed cordially.

The heavy-set man with a glistening bald spot entirely surrounded by a crew-cut of bristling iron-gray hair rose awkwardly. Had his mannerly response to her greeting been prompted by a kick from Sarah Ann Parker who faced him across the food-laden table at the window? He shuffled his feet. Thrust one hand into his red and black plaid lumber-jacket pocket, took it out, repeated the process with his other. Coughed.

"Thank you, Miss Cinderella. It sure is a treat to get to the mainland. Right kind of you to let me come."

He speaks like a Canadian. Gives each r all it has, she thought.

"It is a pleasure to have you here. Stay with us as long as you can." She ignored the violent shake of Sarah Ann Parker's head. "It must be a treat for you two to be together. Come up when I ring, please, Sary, I may need your help. By the way, in case you should miss them, I'm taking three of my silver cups from the old kitchen.

The tennis committee of the Country Club is putting on a members' Trophy Exhibit." She nodded to the man who stood as if in embarrassed silence shuffling his feet.

"Have fun in our wild town if you can find it, Mr. Parker."

"Thank you, Miss Cinderella, but I'm not much of a night owl. At home I go to bed soon's the chores are done. I hope you have fun. Sarah Ann told me you are going to a party."

"I am." She laughed. "With bells on, figuratively speaking. Good night. I'll ring when I need you, Sary."

She stepped into the old kitchen, closed the door, drew the painted window shades and snapped on the light in the glass lamp which once had been used for oil. The pumpkin-yellow walls glowed in the light, copper saucepans shimmered like red gold. She caught a side of the cupboard and drew it forward with such care that not even one piece of the mulberry and black Canova on the shelves jiggled.

Had the person who had hidden the bag of jewels in the chest used the steep, narrow stairs behind it to reach the turret room? They looked spooky. Creeping up was indicated. She would have to mount that way when she planted her trap. So what? A private eye didn't stop for trifles when he started out to get his man, did he? And I intend to get mine or perish in the attempt, she told herself and wondered that she could chuckle over an imagined victory which might prove a tragic reality. Better tackle her plan and not stand here thinking about it.

With three silver trophy cups and one outsize copper frying pan in her arms she crept up the steep narrow stairway examining each step ahead as she went. Not a trace of dust, not a betraying footprint. The person who had hidden the jewels hadn't gone up or down this way.

On the second step from the top she placed the copper frying pan. Plenty large to accommodate a hasty foot. She swallowed a chuckle as she visualized results. Danger only for the thief. No one else would use these stairs. She backed down cautiously and at strategic intervals parked the silver cups. They would provide an

additional alarm if or as the intruder descended. For clamor they would have a police siren licked to a finish.

Back in the kitchen she carefully swung the cupboard into place. Rearranged the remaining silver cups on the shelf above the old oven. Her explanation about the Trophy Exhibition would cancel Sarah's curiosity anent the vacant spaces.

An hour later she stood before the long mirror in her brilliantly lighted room analytically observing the girl who faced her. A soft briny breeze stirred the dainty muslin curtains between the long sea-green hangings at the two open windows. From the patio rose the strong scent of marigolds, the tinkle of the fountain, the monotonous chirp of crickets and a repetitive "Katy-didl Katy didn'tl"

"Sakes alive, Cindy 1" Sarah Ann Parker followed her exclamation into the room. "You gave me a start. Thought your great-grandmother had come to life. You was so long ringing I was 'bout ready to run up an' see what had happened when the bell sounded. Step away from that lookin' glass so I can see the whole of you." She walked around her.

"Want to know somethin*, that full red cashmere skirt with the black velvet bands round it an' the big pockets each side looks just like a picture in the magazines you're always bringin' home. I guess the style has come round again. Wearin' the panties that go with it?"

Cindy lifted the hem of the skirt that came to the tops of her white skating boots.

"Ain't they the cutest things? Red like the skirt with narrow white lace ruffles where they bind your knees. Let's see if they show when you dance, Cindy. Whirl-good."

She whirled—good—again and again. Sarah Ann Parker nodded approval.

"Tliey do. Awful cunning. You look like a little girl. How'd you happen to have the high boots? They are too big to be your grandmother's I packed away with those clothes."

"I'll say they are. I managed to squeeze my foot into one of hers, but I couldn't fasten it. This is an old pair.

I'm taking red slippers to wear after we unmask. Some-tliing tells me that when I dance in this fur jacket 1 will melt away in the arms of my partner."

"What you got under it?"

"Just a thin white silk blouse." Cindy turned back the collar of the coat to demonstrate.

"Where'd you get that string of wax beads?" Sarah Ann Parker adjusted her spectacles and peered. "I've never seen it before."

"One of the shops in the city had a sale of synthetic pearls, wonderful imitations at two ninety-eight plus tax."

I didn't say I bought a string, she assuaged an uneasy conscience. I haven't found the right time to tell her that Ken Stewart sent me the necklace. I couldn't resist wearing the lovely things. I should have worn them to the dinner last night. I can't hide them forever. I'm banking on the fact that Lyd Fane will be too busy M.C.'ing the ball to notice them.

"Two ninety-eight? Sakes alive, if they're handsome as those I'll buy some for my brother's girls for Christmas. Who is taking you to the party?"

"Tom Slade."

"I wish 'twas that Colonel Damon."

"You're completely sold on Bill Damon, aren't you? Doesn't take a mind reader to discover that he is teacher's pet in your kitchen, and speaking of kitchens, where's your brother?"

"He helped me with the dishes then went outside to smoke. I'll put him in the first-floor bedroom in the ell. Is that all right?"

"Of course it is all right, Sary. Give him a good time and plenty to eat. Make him realize you are glad he came. I thought you weren't very cordial."

"I guess I was cordial enough. Don't want to overdo it or he might make visitin' us a habit. Gave me a shock when he said he didn't know how long the lobster deal would keep him here. We don't have to cross that bridge till we come to it, though. Put on the mask and let's see how you look." She tucked a short golden-brown curl under the white fur cap.

"I'd never know you, Cindy, with that thing 'cross your eyes. Here's the muff on the bed. Now you're complete. Goin' to carry your great-grandmother's skates jingling from your arm like that? Does sort of make the picture perfect. Bright as silver, aren't they? I polished them the last time I went through that trunk lookin' for moths. There's the doorbell. Must be your beau. Goin' to let him see your costume? Thought it had to be kept secret."

"Usually it is, but he and I are putting on an act." She tucked the white satin eye-mask into a pocket of the fur jacket. "Hold my topcoat, please, Sary. The red skirt doesn't show below it, I hope. I don't want anyone to get a look at this costume before I reach the Inn."

Enveloped in a loose black-and-white checked raglan with huge pockets, the hood drawn over her head, she lingered on the threshold.

"Don't tell anyone, anyone, and that means especially Colonel Bill Damon, what I am wearing, Sarah Ann Parker. He was so cocksure he would recognize me. I want to fool him."

"Why would I tell and spoil your fun? I was young myself, once. Don't you stay too late. I'll be listenin' for you to come home."

"I shan't stay much after midnight. I want to get back. I feel uneasy about—you know what. They might come for that tonight."

"Forget it, Cindy, and have a good time. With my brother here do you think a person who wasn't wanted could get into this house? Joe is an ex-lightweight champion of his town. Go along, he and I will run this ranch. Your beau is ringing again. Get going, Cindy. Have fun, that's what you're always tellin' me."

"I'll have fun." An irresistible laugh rippled. "Something tells me I am about to spring a colossal sensation. The next time you see me, Sary Ann, I bet I will have made the front-page headlines. Wish me luck. I'm off."

TWENTY

"Did you get in touch with the leader of the band, Tom?" Cindy inquired eagerly as Slade's car slid into the highway.

"I did. After I crossed his palm with moola he was all smiles. He was sure his men wouldn't know 'The Merry-go-round Broke Down' which you and I decided would make a corking entrance tune, but declared they could go to town on 'The Beautiful Blue Danube.' "

" 'The Blue Danube' is an oldie, but tops. It will suit us to a T. We practiced the waltz glide to that music at the rink this afternoon."

"I'll say we practiced, and—how."

"The costume you picked up for the masquerade is one hundred per cent perfect for our act."

"It is a neat number. We were so busy rehearsing I forgot to tell you that your guide, philosopher and friend was in the dry goods emporium while I was there. He didn't see me, though."

"And who is my guide, philosopher and friend?"

"Playing cagey, aren't you? Who but that guy Bill Damon?"

"Did he find a costume? What was it, Tom? Tell me. He was sure he would recognize me."

"Hey, get back on the beam, lovely. I don't know. You don't think I would give him away if I did, do you? He's a pain in the neck to me, you like him too much, but I've got to play fair."

"You always play fair, Thomas. You are the very nicest person I know."

"Are you playing fair when you declare in that passionately convincing voice that I am the nicest person you know? Forget it. I'm not beefing. I've settled down to a prolonged attack on what you think is your invincible heart. I'm one darn lucky guy to be putting on the act with you, but, I'm not kidding myself that I am the Prince—yet, Cinderella."

She couldn't declare that he was, better say nothing, let silence answer for her. She liked him immensely but never had felt the force of attraction that had drawn her to Bill Damon the afternoon in Ella's shop, which had increased in power ever since in spite of her indignation when she discovered he was Ken Stewart's deputy. She hadn't had the courage before to acknowledge it or probe into her heart.

"Perhaps Damon wasn't after a costume." Tom Slade's voice interrupted her self-examination. "He had a big man with him who looked like a movie plainclothes guy."

A plain-clothes guy. Since she had stepped into Tom's car she hadn't given a thought to the mystery at The Castle. Had Bill Damon's insistence that she attend the masquerade been his way of getting her off the place while he installed a detective? Suppose the dick—if the man who had been in the shop with him were a dick-decided to investigate the secret staircase from the top?

"What's on the little mind, lovely? You muttered, ^Horrors!' as if something had frightened the daylights out of you."

"I thought—that roadster was heading straight for us."

"Oh, yeah? That isn't the truth and you know it."

She couldn't agree that it wasn't the truth, couldn't tell him that a vision of the plain-clothes man pitching down the secret staircase to the accompaniment of the clatter of copper frying pan and silver cups, had stopped her breath for a minute. Again silence appeared to be golden.

"Perfect night, isn't it, Thomas? There is still a tinge of rose color in the west from the sunset, and so many stars the sky appears gold-plated. Those must be the

Perseids darting through the skies trailing fiery Stardust. It is the season for them."

"I can't concentrate on the stars, my thoughts are on my feet and what they will do to our act. Here we are. Every light in the Inn is on."

"I'm thrilled to the marrow. This masquerade was Lyd Fane's idea, I'll hand it to her for planning something exciting. Now that we are approaching the scene of our triumph—"

"Jupiter, I hope it will prove a triumph. I'm getting the jitters."

"Think defeat and you invite defeat. Brother Slade. Think success and you invite success. We'll be the sensation of the evening. One thing upon which we may count, there will be no audience participation in our act."

"You have something there, gal. Here we are at the rear door of the Inn. Our surreptitious entrance, our progress from this point on has been greased with folding money. Slip on your mask. I'll put on mine later. I've arranged to leave our coats in the dressing room off the stage of the ballroom."

"I'll take the car, Mr. Slade."

The sepulchral whisper oozed from the shadow of a shrub. It sent icy prickles slithering along Cindy's veins. Suppose the act laid an egg? Lyd Fane would be jubilant and Tom never would forgive her for making him ridiculous. She caught his arm.

"Suppose—suppose we're a flop, Thomas. Wouldn't we look silly—" A vision of what could happen choked off her whisper.

"Come on, not getting scared, are you? Think defeat and you invite defeat. Sister Clinton." He chuckled. "Atta gal. Step on it or we'll be seen. Sure you've brought your skates?"

She nodded. Her voice wouldn't come.

"Roger! When we get to the dressing room I'll put them on for you."

Minutes later—it seemed hours—boots on with roller skates attached she had brought concealed in her coat pockets—she stood hand in hand with Tom inside a

door beside the stage which opened into the ballroom. The band was playing a polka. She tried to relax, glanced at her partner through the slits in her mask. He was trim and slender in a crimson jersey and black satin knee pants. Where had he found a costume so suitable? He looked like a French-Canadian ice skater.